


No Distance Left To Run

by restorick



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Angst, F/M, Older Lads, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-06
Updated: 2015-06-06
Packaged: 2018-04-03 04:38:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4087168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/restorick/pseuds/restorick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in 1992. Can Bodie and Doyle have private happiness and still be in CI5? During an operation a line is crossed, making them consider their hallowed ground. With more than themselves to think about, others, just as single-minded, will decide.<br/>It may help the context of this story if you were to read ‘Payback’ first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Distance Left To Run

**Author's Note:**

> In ‘Payback’ I had Keller tell Bodie: “You might think you can keep them apart but you won’t do it forever. That life and this will collide eventually, Bodie. You mark my words.” Keller’s warning got me thinking...
> 
> **Warning! Of-the-time mentions of HIV/AIDS, allusions to infant cot death and domestic violence in this story.**

No Distance Left To Run 

 

Alert, even in the haze of a shared post-sex smoke, he recognised the tone of the vehicle. It was Sir Lionel Laverton’s Rolls Royce and he’d been listening out for it.  
  
Bodie all but threw the roll-up back to his bed mate and launched himself from the mattress on the floor. The woman fumbled and dropped the cigarette, laughing as she watched the mattress begin to smoulder before finally picking the stub up and snuffing the burn with her hand.  
  
She sounded twisted, unhinged. Bodie had known live-for-now-and-damn-the-consequences types, had been so for much of his own life. But these days, in a woman, it left Bodie cold.  
  
Yeah, cold.  
  
Half an hour ago, all too quickly, he’d needed to resurrect that cold hard bastard in his soul. Disconnecting from what he had to do to stay alive, Bodie shoved his everyday life to the back of his mind into a part labelled ‘later’. He needed to keep in character: the quiet intense newcomer recruited to this mob via reputation and underworld connections. It had been achieved following months of other agents’ work. With the character unseen until that point, MI5 could have taken this part of the gig, but no, CI5 had won the prize. How Bodie wished they hadn’t.  
  
He glared at the naked woman lounging in bed as he hurriedly pulled on his trousers.  
  
Jude was a terrorist with no scruples, no human qualities and no beauty to speak of. Doyle had once described it as ‘No vanity. All part of the no-personality cult’. She was powerfully magnetic, nevertheless. The sex had been feral, brutal... and, he hated to admit it, hot. Under his facade, Bodie felt more than a twinge of guilty conscience but pushed it down. Way down and back and under.  
  
Conscience had no place here.  
  
This job required focus and experience, someone of a certain age who was familiar with London and Laverton’s background. It had originally been down for Doyle. But his home life had called and Bodie insisted on stepping in to allow that precedence.  
  
This was more his scene, anyway, Bodie had rationalised on arriving from Cornwall and seeing Ray’s grateful but uneasy face. Better he came undercover and Doyle ran it from HQ. In between caring for Esther and their new baby boy, that was.  
  
Thank Christ that it’d been Bodie who’d needed to do this! And damn this woman to hell that he’d needed to do it - for the sake of his own private life...  
  
Outside, the vehicle drew to a halt with a crunch of gravel. Bodie and Jude’s eyes met and he caught the look of glee on her face.  
  
“Shame, just thinking about an encore…” the woman purred, running her free hand sensually over her breasts, down the flat belly and onward.  
  
Bodie tore his eyes away; she’d timed it beautifully. “Knew he’d be back sooner, didn’t you?” he simmered, reversing his hastily skinned T- shirt and sweater as one and pushing into the sleeves.  
  
As Bodie hooked the clothes over his head and yanked them down, the woman grinned and drew deeply on the last of the cigarette. Blowing the smoke out and re-inhaling through her nose, she shut her eyes in pleasure at the buzz mingled with the smell of sex and lingering throbbing of her body.  
  
She guessed this man was in his forties, but the physique promised from under his clothes had been no disappointment at all. “And you got off on the kick, Kilroy. Or whatever your name is,” she drawled with triumph.  
  
Bodie wasn’t listening, hopping into a boot while tweaking the window shutter.  
  
The woman’s known lover was getting out of the Rolls. Bodie covertly watched Hackett slam the silver door then lean against it to light a joint. As the rangy figure tipped his pony-tailed head back to exhale, Bodie abandoned his observation point.  
  
Having picked the other boot up, he changed his mind and levered the first one off again. Time to move. To move fast, quietly, and be well away from this room when Hackett entered the building.  
  
Bodie stuffed his socks in one pocket and jocks in the other. The baggy combats would hide them until he had time to dress fully. It was some while since he’d gone ‘commando’ he thought, as he looked at the woman again.  
  
The sound of boots on gravel outside reached them both and her eyes weren’t quite so assured, now.  
  
Yeah, he’d had to screw her to save his cover story, but she was also justifiably nervous of Hackett finding out. Bodie had to gamble that the unspoken bargain would hold, because Jude had the slightly better deal. If Hackett knew, she’d probably be beaten and ignored for a while but would still have her life and could worm her way back into the leader’s favour. On the other hand, Bodie would not only forfeit this whole operation, he’d be a goner.  
  
He left the room, only faintly aware the woman had covered up and rolled into a sleeping position.

  


Bodie padded swiftly down the upper hall, careful to avoid nails in floorboards that were bare of carpet. He was heading for the back stairs the household staff would have once used. They’d take him down into the servants’ quarters; there, he’d get his boots on and form a plan.  
  
Away from the main staircase in this empty echoing house, Bodie broke into a bare-footed run. He found the narrow spiral of steps at the far end of the corridor, tied the boots together and hung them around his neck by the laces. Then he leapt down using the double handrails to swing himself half a turn at a time.  
  
As he descended he thought about this unforeseen development.  
  
Judith Pitt-Foster, to give her the full name she shunned, like Karen van den Berg and Judy Wynant before her, was a rich kid turned revolutionary by an upbringing which gave her everything that money could buy, except the parental love and guidance that could have resulted in the debutante of their expectation.  
  
Bucking against her privileged birth and education, she had stuck two fingers up to her parents’ social class and reinvented herself to fit amongst the rebellious youth of those times. At nineteen Jude swapped doing the season before becoming a trophy wife, for squats, political demos and, eventually, direct action.  
  
Jude was of a new breed. Unlike those previous women terrorists CI5 had encountered, she had emptied her healthy bank balance and traded in all the assets that darling Daddy had so trustingly provided before the man could prevent her. The proceeds had been donated to The Cause.  
  
All the same, now in her late twenties, Jude was not shy of retaining some of the trappings of her background. She still wore the uniform of her revolutionary peers and had erased all trace of her Home Counties accent. But, beneath the T-shirt and combat pants, to Bodie’s surprise - and ‘Kilroy’s’ brief approval - she had revealed a taste for luxury underwear: her baggy khaki clothes hid a scarlet push up bra and lace thong.  
  
They were now on the floor of one of the mansion’s bedrooms, while Jude feigned sleep for her lover and Bodie raced to the basement.  
  
Aside of the job in hand, this used to be a game, Bodie remembered. One he mostly revelled in at the time - a very acceptable face of espionage. Oh, the bets he and Doyle had made!  
  
But now there were much higher stakes...

\--oo0oo--

The following evening, Doyle anxiously egged the helicopter on as it swept over the Hertfordshire countryside.  
  
As he listened-in to his squad’s radio transmissions while they stormed the mansion, it became clear that Bodie still hadn’t been sighted. Neither had Lionel or Patricia Laverton - held hostage by the gang to ensure their capture of the man’s last arms deal before he legitimately retired to this country pile.  
  
Where would Bodie go? Doyle had no hesitation. Knowing that CI5 would descend as Bodie returned with the hijacked munitions, if not in the thick of it, he’d secure the civilians – blameworthy or not - just as instinct and training conditioned him to. And if they weren’t inside, Bodie would have gone for cover.  
  
Doyle made a sweeping gesture to the pilot, asking him to circle the mansion’s grounds.  
  
It soon appeared that something had kicked off out here, too.  
  
In the waning light, Doyle spied Bodie at bay near a thicket of trees, wide-stanced and aiming a gun with absolute intent. Getting closer, Doyle recognised a stalemate as Hackett, one of the terrorists, aimed back just as steadily.  
  
Both were shouting, while a woman Doyle now identified as Jude sprawled on the ground, screaming at Hackett with her nose bleeding freely over her mouth and chin.  
  
Doyle immediately tapped the pilot on the arm and stabbed a finger forward. The man nodded, flicked a switch, and the Nightsun searchlight’s 40 million candle power seared down.  
  
The helicopter dropped from its hover, halting again so close to the tableau in the field that Doyle couldn’t see Bodie at all. With three years working apart, he just had to trust their telepathy was as strong as ever.  
  
The searchlight created a whiteout, numbing vision. Coupled with the deafening throb of the rotors, felt deep in the gut as well as taking your eardrums to the edge of rupture, and the downdraft of air pressing all breath from the lungs of those below, Doyle was banking on Bodie’s experienced senses to allow him to regain the upper hand.  
  
Still a dozen feet from touchdown, Doyle had already dispensed with the headset, drawn his gun and cracked open the door. Immediately, a siren hardly added to the din and the pilot grabbed him, yelling something Doyle couldn’t hear but could guess: what the bloody hell was his boss doing?  
  
Doyle shrugged him off as he swivelled out of the door and braced his feet on the skid below. No time for protocol, now. Protecting his head, he dropped into the buffeting, screaming tunnel of air, sound and white light, just as the helicopter steadied in time.  
  
Tuck-rolling to a crouch, Doyle felt the machine rise a little and back off to land. Even before that manoeuvre was complete, Doyle was in a stooped run toward the place he’d last seen Bodie and their quarry. He checked to get his bearings. Behind, the chopper’s engines were cut, the evening light restored and, between the flashes in his over-stimulated eyes, Doyle was mightily relieved to see his goal: in control and very much alive.  
  
“Alright?” Doyle strolled up to the scene, nonchalant, apart from the ready pistol and darting eyes assessing the situation.  
  
“Yeah. Entrance worthy of an Alpha, mate! Good trick, that,” Bodie shot, his eyes never leaving the bleeding, howling woman in his gun sight. “Take care of this piece of crap, will you?” he toed the form of Hackett who was spark out on the grass.  
  
The man’s supine spread-eagled posture told Doyle that Bodie had probably landed a blow so accurately in a sweet spot that the terrorist hadn’t even seen him coming. He rolled the unconscious figure and cuffed him just as a CI5 four-by-four sped easily across the verdant meadow from the house.  
  
As Doyle straightened up and directed his men, running to the scene, Bodie came alongside steering the woman by a double arm lock – defeated but still spitting venom.  
  
“You wanker, Kilroy! Knew you weren’t legit… ahh!” Jude sucked in a breath as Bodie marched her forward, squeezing the arms higher.  
  
“Yeah? Well, I’m as about legit as they come, Miss Pitt-Foster!” Bodie growled, handing the struggling figure over to one of Doyle’s squad.  
  
“Fucking the enemy, though; now, that’s another matter!” Jude replied with relish, then: “Bastard! Get off me!” yelled in the face of her new captor as he took her away.  
  
“Nice what they turn out of convent education, isn’t it?” Bodie finally looked Doyle in the eye, but turned away as soon as the words were out. Gun dangling in slack fingers, Bodie took in the sunset slowly dipping below the tree line. He blew out a massive breath, rocked onto his heels and threw his head back.  
  
Doyle could see his friend’s closed eyes and waited. He might have waited all night, if he hadn’t spoken first. “What did she mean by that?”  
  
Bodie addressed the sky, the scenery, anything other than someone so perceptive of his moods, “Get me back, Ray. Just wanna go home.”  
  
The radio burst to life. One of the squad members in the house informed his controller that it was secure and all but the gang leaders were accounted for. Doyle reported that he had them and Alpha Three was located, but still no hostages.  
  
Bodie had turned to listen to the conversation; Doyle looked at him knowingly.  
  
Bodie grinned for a second – the sixth sense would never leave the pair – before he pointed to Doyle’s remaining men. “Over that way. See the hummock of grass? Other side is the entrance to a subterranean ice house – Victorian, I should say. Found it early doors; good hidey-hole, if needed.”  
  
Doyle gestured and the men made off, before he faced Bodie for the explanation.  
  
“Laverton might be an arms man but he’s past it, not up to this kind of caper. And the old girl couldn’t walk, let alone run, this far. Had to hide ‘em and draw Hackett off.”  
  
“And what encouraged him to do that…?” Doyle mused, briefly eyeing the Range Rover containing Jude.  
  
Bodie flashed him a look that signalled ‘not now’ and started toward the helicopter. “Let’s just get out of here.”  
  
Doyle narrowed his eyes and followed on. They would debrief tonight - all night, if necessary - before he’d let Bodie go anywhere else.

\--oo0oo--

“Yep...” the hushed voice sounded weary but wide awake, nonetheless.  
  
Doyle was in a similar state of brooding at his end of the line - he’d waited all day to make this call. “Bodie. Can you talk?”  
  
“Yeah, she’s asleep. But give me a sec and I’ll go to the kitchen.”  
  
Doyle rubbed a hand across his furrowed brow, listening as the phone was laid down at Bodie’s end. Then came a whispered shushing and Doyle could imagine his friend trying not to wake his wife as he left their bed.  
  
The muffled sounds of bedclothes and, knowing Bodie, perhaps a robe being shrugged on, gave Doyle time to consider his own situation.  
  
Esther was sleeping, too. He pictured her upstairs: baby Thomas in his Moses basket at her side, lately satisfied by a feed. Doyle had slipped away soon after. Esther’s sleep was the exhaustion of a new mother, coupled with worry that this tiny life could be as tenuous as the last baby’s she’d held in her arms. Bodie’s wife’s was relief at having him safely back after nearly two weeks.  
  
During that time Doyle had had his own distractions at home and the op to run, but still kept in regular touch. They both knew he was trying to reassure her but couldn’t tell her anything, and Vicky wouldn’t ask. So they’d talked about the kids, how Esther was doing, whose turn it was next to visit town or the country - everything but Bodie’s absence.  
  
Although completely capable and resourceful by herself, Doyle knew she worried about Bodie without showing it, aware of what his job involved. And this time, because of that damn job, it was quite possible Bodie’s return had been less than happy.  
  
God, this is partly my fault, it should’ve been me! Doyle worried. What would I have done? Yeah, what would I’ve done? And what price was Bodie paying for his actions? At least it seemed they were sharing a bed. Perhaps Bodie was going to tell him it wasn’t as bad as he feared...  
  
The phone was lifted again and Doyle was about to speak, but the sounds of bare foot fall and grunted breathing brought him the image of a hunched, jaded Bodie moving through the door and across that high-ceilinged main room in the restored barn. It was a large but homely space where Doyle and Esther had spent some great times over the last few years. Just as Bodie, his wife and daughter had in Doyle and Esther’s home.  
  
Slouched in a pool of lamp light, Doyle looked around the lounge of his Wembley town house and through the kitchen to where the patio doors framed the clear summer night outside. Everywhere were the signs of his family: Esther’s ceramics and jade figures, his own paintings hung on the walls, and, now, baby’s things were dotted in between and around, taking their very welcome place.  
  
From the devastating heartbreak of last year, this house had been a place of new beginnings, of fresh joy and hope once Thomas came along. Doyle trusted that Bodie’s family would be sharing in that again, and soon. For both he and Bodie, these days home it wasn’t just another CI5 flat or the possessions in it; now, home was proper roots with their partners and kids. And, though they worked 250 miles apart, the men still had each other. Always.  
  
“Right. Sorry, didn’t want to wake her.” Bodie resumed contact in his clipped manner.  
  
“No problem, same here.” Doyle didn’t know what to say, how to broach what had been the last subject they’d spoken of that morning, and still uppermost in his mind now each was in that world away from CI5. “How’s things...?” he began, tentatively.  
  
There was the sound of a door opening, a clink of glass, a drink being poured. Bodie exhaled hugely. “Just as you’d imagine, Ray. She knows me so well. Never been able to lie to her...”  
  
There was an inevitability in his friend’s voice and then Doyle could’ve sworn he heard Bodie add, “Have never wanted to.” It was barely audible - maybe that admission was new, even for Bodie.  
  
Doyle clutched a scotch as his stomach flipped. Anyone could see how Vicky felt about Bodie, but Doyle knew she wouldn’t take this lightly. It couldn’t be over. Bodie deserved happiness as much as anyone. It just couldn’t be over so soon, and with a child that Bodie loved so much!  
  
“You told her,” Doyle breathed.  
  
Bodie was moving again. Then the scrape of a chair on the stone floor. Doyle could see the kitchen in his mind’s eye and Bodie sitting down at a long wooden refectory table.  
  
“Like I said, she sees right into me. Better I told her than she guessed. But how do you...? You do all the usual things when you get home.” Bodie sighed again and Doyle heard a gulp of drink go down. “Said I’d clean up before we ate. Took a shower. Then she walked in with a coffee for me...”  
  
There was a pause; absolute silence. Bodie would be pinching his eyes, head hung, Doyle imagined. He waited, holding his own head and his breath, still not wanting to hear the worst but needing to know all the same.  
  
“Ray, I have a bite mark. That bitch bit my shoulder.”

  


At his end of the line, Bodie heard Doyle swear and belt something. The old worryguts would be a mixture of angry and frustrated.  
  
Bodie would have preferred a punch from Vicky to the astounded silence that had been her second reaction. The first, indulgently exasperated: ‘Oh, Bodie! And I thought you’d come home without a scratch on you!’ had caused Bodie to twist, trying to see what she had.  
  
It was just out of sight over the crest of his shoulder until he looked into the mirror behind him.  
  
How the hell hadn’t he felt Jude do it? Then he remembered the very real ‘heat’ of that moment. Slammed up against the mansion wall, the woman riding above him with her thighs locked around his hips, ‘Kilroy’ had rolled her onto the rough plaster in retaliation and thrust hard, whipping her head over his shoulder... Bodie couldn’t meet his own eye in the bathroom mirror.  
  
But he could see Vicky’s. Coming closer by then, she’d been completely focused on the livid bruise - an ellipse of distinct purple teeth marks, dark red inside and beginning to turn yellow green at the edges.  
  
She stood next to him, put the coffee down and examined Bodie’s shoulder blade more closely to make sure. Fingers that usually touched him with such knowledge, tenderness, such desire, finding the evidence of Bodie’s deceit. Vicky only had to look at his face to see the truth. She backed away.  
  
Then came the stunned questioning and his own careful replies – there was no disguising or denying it, she was medical and knew exactly what she’d seen – before the hurt, angry physicality of her understanding. Even then, no really raised voices; she’d barely cried. He’d have felt better if she’d yelled at him, but it wasn’t her way and certainly not within earshot of their child.  
  
So far, Bodie’s tale had implied the worst. Doyle sounded confused at the other end of the line. “But Vicky’s there, in bed...”  
  
“She’s not here.”  
  
“Then, who...?”  
  
“Grace. Been looking after Grace since Vic left. She’s so happy to have me home, all to herself, she wouldn’t go to sleep. So I took her to bed with me. Cup of warm milk, couple of stories, and bingo! You have all this to look forward to, mate!”  
  
Bodie’s obvious delight in these simple things belied how bereft he felt. And trying to deflect attention from what had happened between them, where Vicky had gone, wasn’t going to work with someone who’d known Bodie all these years.  
  
“‘Left’?”  
  
The single word from Doyle brought Bodie back. “She went this afternoon. Needed some time by herself. Needs to think. Said I need to spend time with Grace and remember what I’ve got.”  
  
“For how long?”  
  
“Dunno. I know what I’ve got... Christ, I’ve loused up good an’ proper, this time!”  
  
“Would you’ve done it if you’d had a choice?”  
  
“I did!”  
  
“Okay, a _viable _choice.”  
  
“No way! In the old days, yes, without a thought. But I didn’t have Vicky, then. Or Grace. And I won’t bring her up with the doubts I had about my old man.”  
  
He’d been determined from the start that his kid would have the best parts of his childhood and would never know the worst. Bodie knew the worth of a loving mother, and he was going to shake off the ghost of his own father by being a proper dad. As much as work let him, but neither would Grace be spoilt to make up for his absences. Vicky and he came from similar values and had, so far, made family life solid and happy, as real as CI5 would allow.  
  
Sitting there alone, Bodie felt like he’d failed everyone except CI5.  
  
His voice was instantly deep and sincere, the same tone Doyle had heard on a milestone day in a register office, not yet eighteen months before. “Ray, when I got wed I meant it to be for keeps. Never wanted this to happen.”  
  
“And Vicky’ll realise it was that or your safety. She’s not stupid, Bodie.”  
  
“Stupid enough to be with me! Could’ve had someone with a regular job, who spends more time with her.”  
  
“True of any of us in CI5. Besides, a regular bloke wouldn’t be you. I see the way Vicky looks at you, the poor deluded woman...”  
  
“Sometimes I think you know her better than I do. I know you talk.”  
  
“We get on. Not better than you, but we started out in hospital watching you sleep off that argument with a tree. Esther and I love Vicky and Grace to bits. We all have something that connects us.”  
  
“I know!” Bodie groaned, “Can you put in a good word for me?” He drained his drink and poured some more.  
  
“If she calls, I’ll confirm you had very little choice. Other than that, really needs to be you, mate... Hang on!” Doyle suddenly snarled down the phone, “You’re getting pissed and Grace is alone in your bed? What if something happens?”  
  
Bodie could picture the wide-eyed alarm on his friend’s face. “I do have some nous when it comes to Grace! It’s not booze, it’s milk. The kid’s got me hooked on the white stuff. ‘Cept mine’s semi-skimmed!” Bodie twirled the glass with good natured grumpiness. “Apparently, I need to ‘watch my cholesterol’, these days.”  
  
He knew Doyle had said it first, years ago, but didn’t rib him any further; Doyle’s concern came from something much more recent and all too real. “Ray, nothing like that’s gonna happen again. Jake was... Look, you can’t keep beating yourself up about it. Wasn’t yours or Estie’s fault, right?”  
  
“Bodie, don’t take the chance! Grace is a tough little thing, but she’s only two. In an adult bed, on her own... Could get covered up, fall out, anything!”  
  
“Okay, okay! I’m going right back, keep your hair...” Bodie pulled up short on his way from the kitchen table. His wife stood in the outer doorway, framed by the security light behind her and listening to his end of the conversation. “Ray? Call you back tomorrow.”  
  
“Vicky?”  
  
“Just walked in, now.”  
  
Bodie hardly heard Doyle signing off for the rushing blood in his head. Vicky was the only other person he couldn’t hide from. She closed the door behind her and suddenly he felt oh so vulnerable.__

  


Her shoulder bag went down on the table, keys clinked beside it. Vicky took off the cardigan worn against the chill she’d felt, even on the summer’s night.  
  
Calm again. Too calm, Bodie thought.  
  
She looked straight at him, observing, “Ray knew before I did.”  
  
“Debrief, Vicky.”  
  
She jerked her head, recognising something she couldn’t change or argue against. “Do I guess right?” she pointed through the door and living room to the bedrooms beyond, “In our bed?”  
  
“Yeah, I...” Bodie started, but she was already moving. “I’ll go,” he offered - reaching out, trying to connect.  
  
“S’okay. If you want a job doing, do it yourself...” Vicky kicked off her sandals at the door and started across the main room walking purposefully.  
  
Bodie followed on, needing to be near them both now they were all under the same roof again.  
  
He watched the summer skirt swinging around Vicky’s legs, skimming the backs of her knees – the soft silky hollows where Bodie knew his touch would have her melting.  
  
If he could just break into a trot, scooping Vicky against him and steer her to the bedroom, hustling and laughing together. If he could carry Grace back to her own bed and return to find Vicky waiting for him; waiting to join in the tender, smiling choreography of undressing each other - Bodie’s welcome home, reaffirming their need, their bond. If only they could, everything would be alright. If only…  
  
“You fed her, I hope?” Vicky asked over her shoulder.  
  
“Spaghetti hoops an’ soldiers. Yoghurt for afters. Ate the lot.”  
  
“You?”  
  
“Not really hungry...”  
  
“It was a hint, Bodie!” She nodded back to the kitchen, “Toast, please. And one of what you’re having.”

  


As Bodie zigzagged around the kitchen: bread bin, toaster, fridge, cupboards and drawers, he caught a glimpse of Vicky emerging from their bedroom and going into Grace’s, the toddler cradled over her shoulder. The sight made Bodie smile despite his feeling of foreboding: their daughter’s comfort cloth was dangling from the little hand holding on, even in sleep.  
  
‘Fuzzy’ had once been an absurdly luxurious cashmere wrap which Esther brought new born Grace from Hong Kong. Now it was a shadow of its former self, but still soft and treasured as a comforter and friend. Grace trailed it everywhere with her and soothed herself to sleep with the cloth against her face, even though the thing was often grubby and smelly. Vicky had to regularly prise it from Grace’s grasp at night and wash, dry and return it before morning, if all hell wasn’t to break loose in the Bodie household.

  


The toast had popped out, hot and golden, just as Vicky returned to the kitchen. Perfect. Trying for Brownie points, Bodie presented it alongside every form of spread, jam and toast-adorning substance he could think of.  
  
A bit overkill, with hindsight. Vicky had rejected every one and gone to a cupboard for the comb honey she kept in reserve for lazy breakfasts in bed when, she was silently declaring, the simple fact that they had such a moment together was cause enough for celebration.  
  
Not exactly celebratory, they drank milk and she ate, offering Bodie a piece which he took but could hardly swallow, the toast seeming to take every bit of moisture from an already dry mouth. The sharing was an olive branch, the honey a sweetener, but he was still bemused by Vicky’s calm, feeling sick to his stomach at what might be coming.  
  
He decided to take the initiative. “Where’d you go, Vic? All this time, I was getting worried.”  
  
“You mean you haven’t got my car bugged?”  
  
“No! Well… not in the way you mean.”  
  
Vicky gave him a ‘there you are, then’ face and chewed a bite of toast slowly.  
  
Bodie admitted, “Yeah okay, it has a tracker. ‘Course it does. But I’d only use it in an emergency.”  
  
“Not that worried about me, then…”  
  
“Oh yeah, I’ve been fine, thanks for asking! Looking after Grace, playing with her - putting a brave face on it while you’re out there, upset. It’s been a ball!” Bodie pushed away from the table, not bothering to pretend, his face anxious for whatever Vicky was thinking.  
  
“Now you know what my life’s like,” she countered without any triumph.  
  
Touché! Better take that one on the chin, old son.  
  
Vicky finished the toast, finished her milk. Silence took hold, Bodie’s pulse loud in his own ears.  
  
“You haven’t done that in years, Vicky.”  
  
She looked up, nothing to read on her face apart from questioning his statement.  
  
“Run off, run away - used to be default for both of us, didn’t it?” he empathised, “Thought we’d stopped since we found each other…”  
  
“I haven’t felt like this, in years. And I didn’t ‘run’; I told you what I was doing and just went out for a while.”  
  
“Nearly six hours! You shot out of the yard like a rocket, they heard the squeal of tyres in the village!” Bodie pointed for emphasis, then calmed his voice, “I was worried about you.”  
  
There was silence again, Vicky chasing toast crumbs into a small puddle of amber liquid on the plate.  
  
“Drove until I didn’t know where I was,” Vicky suddenly confessed, voice stunned at the vague wandering she’d found herself doing since that afternoon.  
  
Bodie had to lean back into the table to catch what she was saying.  
  
“Up on the north coast, it turned out. Found a beach without many tourists and walked until I was all walked out. We don’t go to the north coast, much; it’s nice, we should… And when I couldn’t walk any more, I drove and drove ‘til it started to get dark. Then I needed to come home - if you’re not at work, we’ve never spent the night apart, never gone to bed on an argument… Did you want her?”  
  
“Don’t, love. Won’t do you any good.”  
  
“Not knowing won’t, either! It’ll be in my head, eating away at me; at us. _Did - you - want - her?_ ”  
  
“Wasn’t like that. It was work, I wasn’t ‘me’.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah. The fact is, I know you can pretty much get it up in any situation. ‘It’ was work, ‘you’ weren’t you, but if you wanted her, then that makes all the difference to me.”  
  
“No, I did not want… it.”  
  
“Is she still around? Will she be back?”  
  
“No. I nearly got rumbled, was… propositioned. Had to keep my cover, might not have got out, else. It’s over and done with.”  
  
“Okay, okay,” Vicky waved him down irritably, not really wanting to hear the detail, “My worry, now, is that you’ll want to go back.”  
  
“‘Back’? I told you, it’s done.”  
  
“Back to how you were. Back to dicking around, before I trapped you into a relationship and – CI5 forbid – fatherhood and marriage!” She threw her hands up in mock horror, for emphasis.  
  
“You did not ‘trap’ me; I had to persuade you! It was time, I wanted… want, you and Grace. We’ve been through this.”  
  
“Not thoroughly enough, it seems.”  
  
“I do not want to go back to that. But this was... You’d prefer I was faithful and dead, rather than back here in one piece?”  
  
“Was it really like that?”  
  
Bodie nodded and looked down.  
  
Vicky could see how he was struggling with this, but she was too. “Ironic, isn’t it. All that time laying down your life for Ray.”  
  
“That’s different.” Bodie drew himself up, “We got out of it together or we went together. My squad look out for me these days; Doyle has his. But at that moment it was just me against her, and I made it back to you and Grace – you’re my reason, now!”  
  
“And that’s just as ironic, in a way. I don’t mind women ogling you, it’s a compliment to my very good taste, as long as you don’t touch.” Vicky smiled faintly, “Remember that Air Commodore’s wife at the Christmas do?”  
  
Bodie nodded, picturing his increasingly desperate attempts to shake off the VIP’s other half, during an evening that had started out more duty than fun. He’d been lumbered with the wife while the visitor was with Bodie’s RAF counterpart, when all Bodie wanted to do was relax off duty with his work mates, have a drink, a laugh and dance with Vicky.  
  
She was beautiful in an understated long dress, chatting easily with the wives and girlfriends, CI5 squad members and RAF staff, alike. Bodie had signalled to her that the over familiar woman wouldn’t take a polite ‘no’ for an answer, and Vicky drifted to his side right on cue, whisked him away for a dance and saved the evening.  
  
He’d really valued Vicky’s knack with handling all kinds of people, that night. And, yet again, Bodie appreciated them being so attuned.  
  
“Heh, you watch my back, as well,” he half-joked.  
  
Vicky, however, was still completely serious. “Yeah, those women would all love to jump your bones, but would any of them know your dreams – the bad and the good - make you feel safe in your sleep? We can’t separate those worlds completely because CI5 would win. We blend them where we can: your squad know me and Grace, and we do anything with your work that we’re allowed to. That way, they realise you’re a real person with a life outside CI5, and I know you’re being looked-after, being valued. It’s the best way I can keep us all together, make sure this life will last.”  
  
Bodie studied his wife. That’s why there were barbeques and parties here at home, as well as more formal dos at the base. She knew his squad members by first name and could charm the pants off the RAF top brass, with equal ease. She drank beer or wine, as the occasion demanded.  
  
Vicky was friend, lover, partner, protector and reason, and he couldn’t do without her. Didn’t want to. She traversed those worlds, enabling Bodie to thrive in both. He hadn’t fully realised, until now, how hard she worked to give him that peace of mind and body.  
  
“And there’s the real irony,” she continued, “It could’ve been a country milkmaid or someone at work, but, no, it has to be some shady female that I can’t match, can’t even identify with her motives.” Vicky swallowed and took a pause. “We were both so sure, Bodie, then Grace came along. It’s been such a big change for us both. I know we can do it together, but if you need something different...”  
  
She was giving him a get-out, having reason enough to walk away herself; Bodie had to turn this around. “How did you know I could do this?”  
  
“Because of Ray. You might be chalk and cheese, fire and ice, but you’re also Butch and Sundance, Starsky and Hutch. You’re brothers – in arms, in blood… Back then, you were so busy avoiding relationships, you hadn’t thought you’d actually had a very deep, very meaningful one for all those years. I saw that, if you could have that with Ray, stay loyal to him and CI5 for so long, then you could do it with a woman. But you’d have to want to and she’d have to be…”  
  
“Exceptionally patient, adaptable and tough.”  
  
“Bright eyes, wet nose…”  
  
“Eh?”  
  
“Sounds like a Labrador!”  
  
Bodie waved a mock-stern finger, “Oh no, no, no. I’m done with ‘dogs’. And ‘bikes’. And ‘limpets’.” His voice dropped to that husky tone again, “That’s how I knew it was you.”  
  
But Vicky wasn’t yet ready to let him win her over. “And what about next time, the next operation?”  
  
“Thought you trusted me?”  
  
“How can you ask, when you’ve got… got _that_ on your skin?” Vicky pointed distastefully at the offending shoulder, now covered by a T-shirt. “It’s not even a hickey! It’s a full-on bite, about three days old. She’s marked you like you’re hers. For me to see.”  
  
Bodie couldn’t explain why the woman had done it. He couldn’t deny, couldn’t defend it; certainly couldn’t lie about the mark, so he said nothing at all.  
  
Which, along with his expression, told Vicky as much as any number of words would have. “How on earth did you not know? Odd place! From behind?” Her voice took on a scornful edge, “Hand-job, was it?”  
  
“Vicky…”  
  
“’Course, I’m presuming it was a woman!” she scoffed.  
  
“Vicky!” Bodie’s face broke into sheer exasperation.  
  
“No, think you’d rather die!” Her voice become colder as she looked clinically at his shoulder, “Size of the mouth: woman. And more like from above. She was… Oh, no!” Vicky put a shaking hand over her mouth.  
  
“Don’t, love...”  
  
“Not just on top, she was in your lap, wasn’t she?”  
  
“…please, don’t.” Bodie made to reach for her hand on the table.  
  
Vicky pulled away, “That’s my thing. Our thing!”  
  
If Bodie touched her, she’d lose momentum, lose her ability to express everything churning inside. And, for good or ill, she needed to get it out. “Got off on playing away from the little woman, thinking of me when you...? How many times, Bodie? You’ve been away for twelve days. How many times?”  
  
“Was once. I promise you, only once.”  
  
“Promises! Trying to prove marriage vows and CI5 can work together…” Vicky’s cynicism changed to softness as she thought of the day in question, “You said things to me that day that I knew were real. And not just in front of the best friend you’ve ever had, you said them in front of Grace.”  
  
Bodie could see it too. “Still mean every word, Vicky.”  
  
“I know you do,” she replied compassionately, “But CI5 speaks louder than words, and maybe you need less of… this.”  
  
“‘Less’?”  
  
“Less commitment, less to think about. More freedom, more of what you used to have.”  
  
“No!” Bodie stated emphatically.  
  
Vicky could hear how much he meant it. Her hand skimmed across the table top, fingers briefly fluttering towards Bodie’s before stopping short. No. He needed comfort, but his kind wouldn’t solve this. She needed to be stronger than that.  
  
She got up suddenly and began pacing, supposedly tidying, putting the milk by the kettle ready for tea or coffee, but not making it.  
  
Bodie noticed that she left all the stuff he’d decanted from the cupboards. Then she stood on her side of the table, turning the ring on her left hand - sad, angry, but the set of her jaw told Bodie Vicky was determined to see this through.  
  
“Been easier if it’d been a man,” Bodie’s muffled tones broke through the hand rubbing his face.  
  
“How, for Chrissakes, could that’ve been any easier?”  
  
“For you, maybe.”  
  
“No, no easier, because it would’ve been worse for you. Maybe I shouldn’t’ve said it but, to me, anything’s possible from CI5.” Vicky sighed, as she sat down again. “And, either way, had you thought what else you might’ve brought home?”  
  
Bodie’s head came up. No, he hadn’t.  
  
“She’s clean.”  
  
“‘Clean’? It’s not just a dose of the clap or a few unwanted stowaways, these days, Bodie!”  
  
“Okay, I’ll go see the doctor!”  
  
“What about things you can’t see?”  
  
“I don’t do anything beyond the odd joint, if necessary. You know that.”  
  
God, was he purposely being so obtuse at such a moment? “Maybe not, but if she’s an IV drug user…”  
  
“No. Saw the records and nothing while I was away.”  
  
Leaning earnestly forward, Vicky had her head in her hands, desperate to help him understand without saying the fateful words. “But I’m sure you didn’t have time to use protection. Your cover story wouldn’t have allowed you to.”  
  
“So, you’re worried that she’ll be up the duff? The way I used to go at it before you, that’s more than a possibility anyway! You’ve said you’re okay if some kid comes to look for me in the future.”  
  
“Like you, didn’t have a lot of choice…” Vicky was momentarily softer before returning to the more important subject, “I have no idea if contraception rates in the ‘busy lives’ of women criminals or terrorists, or whatever. I’m not talking about being pregnant. It’s who else she might’ve been with, what their habits might be…?” she circled a hand, extending her thought into the air between them.  
  
Bodie was looking as if a boulder, not a penny, had finally dropped.  
  
Vicky quietly pressed the point home just to make sure he was understanding. “STDs, hepatitis, but I’m most worried about… We saw it in Africa. And Britain is not immune.”  
  
Oh, shit!  
  
‘Slim’ Africans called it, because it did. AIDS made you waste away in great pain and isolation – shunned by loved ones and the community, for fear of catching it – and then die, not of itself, but from another opportunistic infection.  
  
During the endless African wars it had been spread by soldiers, raping their way through the subdued, and was still raging today through prostitution born of the survivor’s hopeless lives. Bodie and Vicky had seen and heard all this from Médecins Sans Frontières when they’d visited the country, laying to rest some of his past. And Bodie had resolved to improve chances for the boy they’d found caring for his grandmother - the emaciated woman who’d come to the hospital and feeding station where Bodie had once known a Dutch nurse; the lover Krivas had killed in spite.  
  
They now sponsored Solomon and his education as a small way of atoning for the things Bodie had done in that country. Not only for redemption’s sake. Bodie had been given so much in these last few years, and becoming a parent meant he had a genuine determination that this young man was given a hopeful future, too.  
  
But it was spreading rapidly now, and the dread disease wasn’t the so-called ‘gay plague’ the red tops would have everyone believe…  
  
Vicky could see his mind working and began pulling Bodie back from the dark place she’d reluctantly conjured up.  
  
“So, it was a one-off. As I understand, it’s actually quite hard to get if you don’t engage in risky practices. I’m trusting your word, but you don’t know where she’s been or what she’s done. And surely you know I can’t play Russian roulette, Bodie. It could leave Grace without either of us…”  
  
Bodie looked at her in wonder: poor kid, of course she’d been thinking all of this while she’d been out.  
  
“What happens now?” he asked, miserably.  
  
“You get tested. I don’t know how long it takes before they can tell you’re clear, but we’ll just have to behave ourselves until then.” Her serious tone slipped into a conciliatory one, “I know you think you’re totally irresistible but, given an incentive like this, we should both be persuaded otherwise... So, now you know. We are still together and will be having sex again. Eventually. With ground rules.”  
  
During this speech Bodie mobile face had turned from wretched to humble and then hopeful. “No problem. I can do it,” he thought to add, “But what if…?”  
  
Vicky halted the unthinkable with no hesitation, “We’ll tackle that if it comes to it. Fight it.” She changed tack just as positively, “Until we know you’re okay, if we can’t keep our hands off each other, you’ll have to put a hat on it. Sure there’s some left from when we thought I had food poisoning and my Pill wouldn’t work. God, nearly forty and knocked-up - did I feel like some naïve teenager when we found out the food poisoning was Grace!”  
  
Yeah, she really had been thinking about everything: their life so far, where it would go from here.  
  
“I know she sealed the deal, but… stuff like this, Vicky, why the hell do you stick with me?”  
  
She didn’t need to think, this came from the heart. “You had me from the start, Bodie! Because - despite CI5, despite not knowing if you’ll get hurt or even make it home, some days – you make me feel more alive than anyone has. You’re worth the worry and sleepless nights; feeling like a single parent when Grace asks where you are; patching you up and holding you through the bad times. Because the good times are bigger and better and outshine anything CI5 can throw at us. Yes, I need you alive and here with us but… this is just about my limit.”  
  
Bodie felt his guts lurch again but in a good way, this time. He knew this was it for him, too - the totally unexpected fulfilment after all those years of wandering, fighting, dismissing what he’d thought was an impossible dream: a real home built on love and hope with a family to call his own.  
  
“Still sounds like I get the best of it,” he realised.  
  
“I’m trying not to be a nag. I just need you to see things from my side, occasionally. I make the most of every day with you! Used to think we may not last. Thought you’d get bored with me and wander off after someone way younger with legs up to their armpits. Since Grace, it could’ve been boobs that defy gravity and no kiddie snot on their clothes that turned your head, but I’ve stopped holding my breath because you’re so totally in love with her that I reckoned I was fairly safe.”  
  
“Oh Vic, stop it!” Bodie scolded, “Grace or no, it’s always been you. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted and never thought I deserved. But, me…?”  
  
“Well, it was you or be a crazy old cat-lady,” she bluffed before straightening up, revealing that she was close to tears. “Figured I’d rather have a few amazing years with someone who loved me for now, than a lifetime of renouncing men.”  
  
“Because of that bastard who knocked you about,” Bodie gently reminded her.  
  
“He did it once. Never again, I made sure of it.”  
  
“Could’ve applied here, as well.”  
  
“Not if you don’t want it to. I certainly don’t, we have too much to lose. But if it happens again...” she sniffed, “I won’t have Grace’s life messed up by ours.”  
  
“Neither will I! I’m not just here ‘for now’, we’re together for always. It won’t happen again.”  
  
“But CI5 comes first. Bodie, I’ve always known that; known that if I wanted you, I had to accept CI5. Seeing off the odd predatory milkmaid or officer’s wife, I can handle, but this is different – it goes **with** your job!” Raking her hair back with a frustrated hand, Vicky was starting to sound cornered.  
  
“Look, I’ve been thinking while you’ve been out…”  
  
“Wondered what the burning smell was!” she sniped, getting up. She filled the kettle and switched it on. Reaching into a cupboard, Vicky brought down two mugs and thumped them on the worktop.  
  
Hell, they were so alike sometimes! She could be just as hard, and soft, as Bodie, and he knew it was the same defence mechanism, that same will to protect yourself and survive. For the last few years neither had needed it, only now it was seeping into their home and creeping in between them.  
  
Hanging her head, Vicky said quietly, “Sorry. That wasn’t fair.”  
  
He felt the anger and pain coming from her, but had to agree. “No, it wasn’t. You’ve always given me time, Vic. Heard me out. We talk things over – you taught me how to do that – but, tonight, everything’s about you; how much you hurt, what you want.”  
  
“Bodie, I only ever ask for honesty, but this does hurt. It really hurts and all I can do is tell you that, because I am powerless against it happening again.”  
  
“And you thinking I wanted to cheat on you, would risk losing you and Grace… Don’t you think it hurts me, too?”  
  
Speaking to her back, Bodie saw the shoulders hunch and shudder as if feeling how this was killing him.  
  
A chastened Vicky turned to face him. The kettle boiled to its crescendo and clicked off. The kitchen became so quiet they could hear the clock ticking and then, somewhere out in the fields, a fox barked. She took a deep breath and pushed away from the worktop.  
  
Bodie looked down at his fists, clenched on the table. He could sense Vicky near him, the sound of her keys being lifted, then the bag and cardigan. She moved away. He shut his eyes - was she leaving again?  
  
“So, tell me these thoughts, then.”  
  
Vicky was retaking the seat in front of Bodie. She spread her hands on the table, showing him she was present and listening.  
  
He looked to see her things hanging on the coat rack by the door: she was home, she was staying.  
  
“I’ll leave the Service,” Bodie proposed as he gave Vicky his full attention again. “We’ll finish this place, do some more travelling. Kick back for a couple of years, just be together and really enjoy life while Grace is small. Then she’ll go to school, and you want to go back to work eventually, don’t you? I’ll find something else.”  
  
None of it sounded as convincing with her here. Bodie had had a whole impassioned speech in his head but knew, with Vicky, he couldn’t bullshit.  
  
Not wanting to shoot Bodie down in flames again she replied gently, “Like what? Army. Oil rigging, like Andy. Something just as dangerous, taking you away from home just as much; more, even. Or go back to arms running, supply men and experience for the very same people that you fight against, right now? This Bodie, my Bodie, sell out? I know you, and you won’t do anything of the sort if you want to be in Grace’s life.”  
  
Bodie had to grin a little at this. It hadn’t been an empty gesture but, yes, she knew him.  
  
Their kid had the love of two parents, a roof over her head and more than enough money to live by, so much that Bodie had lost as a young man and regained as he grew older, culminating in this life. As Grace grew up and more aware, he wanted to give her a sound moral compass, too.  
  
Plan B it was, then. “So, I’ll buy some more clapped out barns. Do them up and sell them. This place didn’t turn out so bad.”  
  
“It’s the most beautiful home I’ve ever had, but the builders did most and you half-killed yourself doing the rest! ‘Sides, I’d have to help you. You pick all the wrong colours. Stylish dressing, you’re fantastic at, but our living room would be black if you’d had your way!”  
  
They smirked at each other, this time.  
  
“Thanks for the offer, but I’ve been thinking, too. It’s best you stay in CI5. That way, at least I know roughly where you are and that you’re relatively safe. Being an Alpha suits you. You love it, though you’d never admit to it. And your squad will watch your back against dangerous women, they do anything you ask them to. Actually, maybe I’ll have a word - they also recognise the true power behind their boss!”  
  
Bodie still had his hands clasped, but his jaw was slack in not-quite-fake shock. “D’you know, that’s the first time, ever, you’ve told me what to do.”  
  
“Well, desperate times call for desperate measures,” she shrugged, amused. “You can’t leave CI5, love. Unless you really need to, I won’t let you. It’s in your blood; your heart and soul. You wouldn’t be you without it.”  
  
“Without you, either…”  
  
“And, together, it works. We work. Stay, and be true to yourself and everything you’ve built. You’ll know when you’re ready. An emasculated Bodie is no Bodie I’d want to be with.”  
  
Vicky got up again and finished making the tea. She brought the mugs to the table and said nothing when Bodie distractedly stirred in more sugar than he was usually allowed to. She watched him sip it and cringe a little, tasting the difference the extra spoonful made but trying to hide his appreciation of the fact.  
  
Bodie caught the knowing expression on Vicky’s face and his spreading smile completed the unspoken interaction.  
  
“Right,” relieved, Bodie began moving things forward with more self-assurance, “Tomorrow, I’ll go see the M.O., get the tests started. Then I’ll make some ‘leaderly’ edict ‘bout me staying behind the desk, from now on.”  
  
“There’s no call for that,” Vicky looked momentarily pained, “You’d hate it - and me, for it - you have to be out there, doing your job properly. But just remember: I’m a fool for you but I won’t be made a fool of. Can do that all by myself, thanks,” she rolled her eyes.  
  
“Vicky, I am so sorry.”  
  
“That’s all I needed to hear.” Vicky finally reached out and pushed aside his mug, wrapping her smaller hands around Bodie’s.  
  
Bodie lifted his thumbs to fold over hers. After a pause, he broke into their silence, “Sweetheart, what else do you need?”  
  
“Book the babysitter and take me out for a nice meal. You need to do a bit of wooing.”  
  
“Sure I can do better than that.”  
  
“No grand gestures, Bodie, I have everything right here,” Vicky looked directly at him again. “But I won’t say ‘no’ to some more travelling, if you can get away. You’ve promised me Dublin on Saint Paddy’s Day. Maybe get a bit of non-Cornish sun on our bones. And we have a commitment to another kid, in Africa; we can’t let him down, now. I’ll go back to work when Grace is older. I have skills too, remember?”  
  
She began to work her fingers down Bodie’s right hand, just as they were interrupted by the start of a cry from the other end of the building as, unusually, their daughter protested about something in her sleep.  
  
“But, for now, there’s the call back to my ‘front line’!” Vicky breathed, with a sense of irony.  
  
Bodie’s eyes were tightly shut again as Vicky squeezed his hand, and she was gone before he’d looked up, blinking.  
  
He slowly cleared the kitchen table, putting everything away and the dirty things into the dishwasher. He was in enough grief, no point in creating more.  
  
She was right, he couldn’t not be operational and, paradoxically, there was more security from CI5 for all three of them, than in anything else he might do. Subject to the old bod holding out, Bodie figured he had another ten, maybe twelve, years in him before the full desk job beckoned. But now it was definitely time for the young bucks to take jobs where sexual blackmail could happen.  
  
Cowley had picked him to be in charge of his own unit and the old man would have to swallow Alpha Three’s autonomous decisions. Bodie needed this life just as much and CI5 would have to wise up if they were to retain his other talents.  
  
With Cowley increasingly handing over responsibility to Doyle in London, four other Alphas had their own regions and were balancing CI5 and private life in very different ways to how Cowley had done; or, rather, hadn’t.  
  
Bodie, Doyle, and Murphy, in Wales, were all family men these days.  
  
Murph hadn’t just taken the mountains for obvious reasons. His wife was a petite ‘valleys’ beauty who had given him a strapping son, with another on the way. They were well-matched too, both coming from big, close families. Whether in Wales or visiting his tribe in Leyton, apparently, home life could be noisy chaos. And calm, solid Murphy loved it.  
  
Ruth was still single and running the North West squad, where her cut glass accent was reportedly going down a storm with the more discerning Manchester men. When Ruth was ready someone would be bound to snap her up.  
  
And Susan was taken, though not in the way anyone had expected. Heading the North East unit, she and her long-time girlfriend were settled in Newcastle, privately enjoying acceptance away from Cowley’s line of sight.  
  
There would only ever be one Alpha One, but the world was changing and CI5 needed to move with it. Ray, Bodie, Murphy, Ruth and Susan - Alphas Two to Six - were the new vanguard; between them they’d make sure of it, if CI5 was to exist in the next millennium.

  


“Sprog alright?” Bodie whispered as he edged into their daughter’s room.  
  
Vicky was knelt at the low bed, leaning on the cot side with a sponge in her hand, watching the sleeping child. “Yes. Just got tangled up; a bit hot and bothered.”  
  
Bodie went over and squatted down, his knees clicking and crunching. His hand strayed onto the rail, too, longing to feel her touch again.  
  
Grace was lying on her back in just a nappy, arms and legs star-shaped and a corner of the comfort cloth in one fist. The little forehead was damp and shiny and Bodie could see Vicky had sponged Grace down to cool her. God, she was beautiful!  
  
He glanced at Vicky. So was she, inside and out, and Bodie might have lost them both were it not for her deeper qualities. The wave of sickness at what had happened flowed over him again. Bodie swallowed audibly and looked up. “We could put ceiling fans in, like we saw in Africa...”  
  
As he looked back at her, Vicky nodded briefly - fine, but not really the time to be quite so practical, Bodie.  
  
She was intent on Grace and Bodie could feel the distance between them starting to grow again. “I really did put her to bed, Vic. Read a story, but she couldn’t sleep. I know it’s bad taking her to ours but...”  
  
“...‘you can’t resist’, I know. Guess you both needed a cuddle.”  
  
“Yeah. Don’t know which of us, most,” Bodie reached for her.  
  
But Vicky twisted away, cupping Grace’s face, testing her temperature. Then she lightly covered and tucked their daughter in, got up and padded away, avoiding Bodie’s eyes.  
  
Right. Message received and understood: getting closer had to be on Vicky’s terms. She’d show him when.  
  
Bodie leaned into the bed, stroked Grace’s hair and wished her ‘sweet dreams’. He’d have kissed her, but thought better of it. Grace had been smothering him since he’d got home, and hers were full on, full frontal lip-assaults. He felt terrified all over again - what if he was harbouring something deadly?

  


In their bedroom, Vicky was self-contained once more, putting the bed between them, and Bodie knew tending to Grace had hardened his wife’s resolve.  
  
She picked up a child’s book that was a current favourite, reading fondly, “‘Where’s Spot?’”  
  
“Twice. Lifted all the flaps... Lifted them all again...!” Bodie plodded out, mock-wearily. He began clearing others, strewn across the bed. “Sure the little minx knows where he is, by now!”  
  
“Looks like she played you up: ‘The Tiger Who Came to Tea’, ‘The Very Hungry Caterpillar’...” Vicky took the books as Bodie handed them over.  
  
“And one of those cartoon things,” Bodie waved in the direction of Grace’s room and then scratched his head, still treading on eggshells.  
  
“Oh, the Mr Men.”  
  
“Yeah, the one with the fat stomach.”  
  
“Mr Greedy. She loves him. Except he’s pink and she wants him to be ‘booo’.”  
  
This was a bit better; Bodie tested the waters. “Wonder why?”  
  
“See a theme developing at all? Things she might’ve inherited from you?”  
  
“Like?”  
  
“It’s a wonder Grace hasn’t got anything in camo, yet! May never be a girly girl, our child, and loves her food.”  
  
“Ah well, let’s just hope she’s got your brains.”  
  
“Your brain is perfectly good, Bodie,” Vicky instantly replied, “It’s your nether regions you should worry about!”  
  
Too soon, Bodie winced.  
  
Vicky piled the books by the bedside, Bodie watching and knowing how he felt about her more than ever, now she’d taken yet another ‘CI5 hit’. That last exchange seemed to have deflated her. She rubbed her eyes, the cried-away mascara no longer smudging, then ran a hand through her hair and down to squeeze the nape of her neck where Bodie longed to kiss the tension away.  
  
“You look tired, love.”  
  
“Hardly fanciable, bags under my eyes, you mean?”  
  
“No! Just been a long day; a long time holding the fort on your own, then I land back down with my shit... Not easy, is all I’m saying.”  
  
“‘Not easy’? Try effing exhausting!” Vicky suddenly began straightening out the bedclothes, tugging them into place.  
  
She almost laughed at her habit of trying to disguise swear words, even without a two year old listening, when all she really wanted to do was swear and scream, feel selfish and used, for once.  
  
Tired with absorbing things she wouldn’t let near their child, things she couldn’t share with anyone apart from Ray and Esther Doyle, Vicky finally took out her pent up feelings by thumping life back into the pillows. “A few hours on your own with Grace and you think you know it all!”  
  
“C’mon, Vic, I’m trying, here! I notice you’re done in and you go off on one!” Bodie complained.  
  
“We might be okay but, strangely enough, I’m still angry!” she pummelled, “With you, with CI5, with whoever...!” She stabbed a finger toward his shoulder as her voice caught, then sat heavily on the bed. Hugging herself, Vicky suddenly sounded as if all the fight had left her. “Maybe you should go back to the sexy young chicks, after all. Much more fun, much less complicated.”  
  
Vicky may have been the decisive one tonight, but Bodie knew she still needed his reassurance. “Not for me. Quite happy with the ‘old boiler’ that I’ve got, thanks,” he deadpanned.  
  
“Hey!” Vicky flung a pillow across the bed, Bodie letting it hit him square on the chest where he caught it.  
  
Trying not to laugh, she sought out his eyes. “Really? Me, over flocks of young birds ready to succumb to your every whim?”  
  
“Absolutely certain. Boring and repetitive after living with you. I want you and all of this. Well, not this...” Rolling his eyes, Bodie toned down the humour and aimed the pillow gently back. “But I don’t think it’s for me to say, after what I’ve done.”  
  
“I trust you when you say you had to. May not be here, if you hadn’t. And I won’t let that happen, this is where you belong.” Vicky visibly pulled herself together and picked up Bodie’s lighter thread. “Ah, you’ll do! I’m too set in my ways to run in a new fella, now. And Grace’d never forgive me.”  
  
She replaced the pillow, smoothed it out and looked at the bed between them as if hesitant to use it. “You’re right, though, I’m shattered. And she’ll be up early.”  
  
Did ‘shattered’ mean more than just ‘tired’? Bodie feared. “Gonna sleep in the spare?” he asked quietly.  
  
“Not made up. And I can’t face hauling my tired old body upstairs.”  
  
“Want me to?”  
  
“What, ‘haul my tired old bod...?’”  
  
“No, me sleep upstairs, you daft mare!”  
  
“’Course not, you idiot…” Vicky gave him a wobbly smile.  
  
“Sure?”  
  
“Absolutely certain,” she echoed his words and laughed more openly, “Your poor old knees might not make it, either!”  
  
Now he knew they’d be okay. Eventually. Vicky wouldn’t punish him but neither would she be rushed - she had one very valid reason. And he’d given his body, however briefly, to someone else. Someone she couldn’t rival; wouldn’t, because that wasn’t who Vicky was.  
  
Bodie watched her get up and move to the end of the bed. Instead of heading to the bathroom – blessedly - she held out her hand to him.  
  
Fingertips met fingertips, still feeling like the first time, still catching Bodie’s breath. Their hands slid, fingers separating and knitting comfortably together, feeling like the safest place in the world where he could truly be himself.  
  
He wanted to hold her, to feel her arms around him, showing him that everything was alright, but Bodie wasn’t going to push his luck. What the hell had he given Vicky: worry, grief and the spectre of his shagging someone who didn’t deserve to be mentioned in the same breath. And yet she was still here, giving him the life that balanced out CI5.  
  
They locked eyes. “Don’t look so worried,” she reassured, “I’m not going anywhere. I would never take Grace away from you and no one is taking you away from us, not while I have a choice. Just give me some time. A bit of time and I’ll get past this because I believe in you and I love you.”  
  
Bodie breathed, “And I Iove you. I know I don’t say it enough.”  
  
“You may not say it every day,” she smiled tenderly, “But you tell me all the time.”  
  
Vicky knew she had to give a little more, Bodie was genuinely bewildered.  
  
“It’s the things you don’t say. My Claddagh,” she explained, holding out her other hand with its single ring on the third finger, the crowned heart in hands pointing inward.  
  
Vicky gestured around them, “This life. This house. A note on the worktop when you’ve left early. The fact that you come home to me - not anyone else - me, when you could have anyone you wanted. And there’s a certain toddler who lights up like a Christmas tree when you walk in the room. All that tells me.”  
  
She came close, folding his arm around her waist. As Bodie gathered her in, Vicky’s body arched and rose to meet his and he felt the last ripple of queasiness replaced by warm, flooding relief.  
  
Neither of them had any reason to run and nowhere else they wanted to be.  
  
Vicky reached for his shoulders. She didn’t hesitate, putting a hand directly on the place where the bite lay under his T-shirt - reclaiming his skin. She could feel a large plaster beneath the cloth and silently thanked him for covering the mark while it faded.  
  
Cradling Bodie’s head, Vicky kissed his cheek then pressed her face to his and whispered, “And I will fight for you with everything I have, until the day you tell me you don’t love me... or you can’t come home.”

\--oo0oo-

**Author's Note:**

> The title and some inspiration from a song of the same name by Blur.
> 
> Some of this story’s plot is similar to the film ‘Who Dares Wins’ and it’s not entirely unintentional. The film focuses on the set up and execution of an operation that could get out of control for the protagonist. We are shown Skellen’s private life, contrasted with what he has to do to stay alive as an SAS man undercover. Under threat Jenny Skellen is portrayed as a strong Forces wife, but what we are not party to are the private and personal consequences when her husband returns home. 
> 
> Claddagh rings, featuring two hands holding a crowned heart, are the traditional Irish wedding ring.The symbols mean: 'With my hands I give you my heart and crown it with my love'. When engaged, the ring is worn with the symbols pointing outward, to show others the couple’s intention to marry. Once married, the ring is turned around so the symbols point inwards to be seen by the wearer, alone. They are often engraved inside with romantic Gaelic phrases. Maybe Bodie would honour his heritage and give one to his life partner


End file.
